


Day Twenty: Comforting Each Other (AKA "Don't let me take a plane, Bond. I HATE Planes.")

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [20]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alcohol, Anxiety, Comforting Each Other, Keeping one's mind off of the situation, M/M, Mission Fic, Nerves, PDA, Snuggling, nuzzling, planes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, the airport. Bond and Alec try to be helpful, and for once...it seems to help. Q is still a ball of ugh, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Twenty: Comforting Each Other (AKA "Don't let me take a plane, Bond. I HATE Planes.")

**Author's Note:**

> I don't not suffer from anxiety. I consider myself very lucky. If I get a nuance wrong, or if someone feels it is not correct, I am so very sorry.

The three of them sat in the parking stall at Heathrow Airport. Alec stretched himself out in the back of the car, leaned up against the door, and had shawarma laid out in his lap. He munched happily away as he plucked away at the netbook balanced on his knee. “Did you know that Alexander Crabb - such an unfortunate name - has holdings in most of the Fortune 500 companies? I didn’t. Not sure I care, either.”

“It could be important.” Q tried some breathing exercises, something his MI6-issued therapist had recommended as an alternative to anti-anxiety pills. _Fucking quack. Not helping in the slightest. Of course, it doesn’t help that James, due to habit alone, parked as bloody fucking close to the terminal as possible. Oh, look, there’s an aeroplane flying overhead, and it’s going to fucking crash on this fucking car, we will all die in a fiery ball of hatred and pain because jet fuel is insanely flammable. Some plane crashes happen before they even leave the airfield. Maybe we won’t even make it off the ground. A bunch of terrorists could hijack the plane on the ground and then they will blow it up with a bomb. Or they will sit patiently and wait for us to get off the ground, and then they will kill the pilot and dump the aircraft into the fucking English Channel. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? And there’s a thunderstorm that is coming in. We fly through that, and get hit with lightning, and an electrical short sets the cockpit on fire, and we go down. Or we could be shot out of the sky a mile away from our destination._

_Wouldn’t that be fucking splendid._

“Q.”

The Quartermaster slammed his head back against the headrest. “Fucking cunts.”

A hand on his knee made him jerk, and his head whipped around to stare at Bond. “What?”

“Having a meltdown?”

“Oh.” Q grinned his most fierce grin and shook his head. “I’m not even fucking _close_ to a meltdown. This is only the beginning. This is nothing. I need whisky. Drink myself stupid before we even get on the plane. Have I mentioned that pilot error causes fifty percent of crashes since the beginning of recorded flight? That doesn’t even include the ones that aren’t documented. And apparently pilots can be on their phones while flying a chunk of ruddy buggering metal through the air at hundreds of kilometers an hour at thirty _fucking_ thousand feet? Did you know that? And that just one bird in the engine can destroy the fan blades that keep the pressure in the engine at optimal ranges, causing the engine to fail catastrophically? And weather, let’s not mention the weather reports coming in.” He thrust his phone in Bond’s face, and the agent took it. “A thunderstorm, Bond. _Lightning._ Fucking. Lightning. We are going to be in the air, in a fucking lightning rod. And turbulence. _Turbulence,_ Bond. Do you not understand?” Q curled up as much as he could in the seat. “We are going to die.”

“We are not going to die, Evan.” James patted his knee and pointed at the food in his own lap. “Do you want a bite?”

Q’s stomach rolled at the mere idea of food being within two feet of his mouth. “Oh, no. No, _no no_. Can’t. Will be ill, and then I will make a fool out of myself. Ugh. No food.”

“Water?” Alec extended his water bottle between the front seats.

“No. Thank you, but no.” Q pushed it away from his face. “I can’t.”

James nodded, and Alec smiled at the rear view mirror. “Just thought I would offer.”

Q swallowed hard. “I know you two are only trying to help, but nothing is going to help. I’m sorry.” He tried to make himself even smaller, and willed his mind to shut the _fuck_ up. “I’m sorry I’m a useless wreck right now.”

“No, shut up. You aren’t useless. You have issues with planes. You will be fine once we are back on the ground.” Bond shook his head. “I can’t believe those arses in Medical didn’t give you anything.”

“Do we have time to go back and kick their arses until they do?” Alec finished his sandwich and handed the netbook to Q, who took it and convinced himself NOT to look at the weather reports, instead going to the flight schedules. _I am going to be professional about this._

“No, I’m afraid not. Our plane is there, and we have thirty minutes to get through the terminal.” Q shut the computer and shoved it into his messenger bag next to his own laptop, and opened his door, steeling himself for his personal hell. “May as well get this over and done with, no sense in delaying any further.” He pushed out of the seat and slammed the door behind him, rounding to the boot. It popped open as he reached it, and he nodded to James, who was gathering his briefcase from the back seat. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

Alec appeared next to Q, suit jacket slung over one arm and his own case in hand. “I’ve got some agents on their way over to get this crap and stow it on the plane. Let’s get going. Heathrow’s hell at this hour.”

Q looked up and saw a silver car rolling up to them. “Is that them?”

“Yes.” James wrapped one arm around the hacker. “Alright then?”

Q took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself. Still not helping, but James’s arm was, a little. “Splendid. Let’s go.”

  
  
  
  


 

Alec was right - the terminal was in a perpetual state of riot and chaos, and the ticket counters weren’t much better. In fact, it was bedlam. _I’m actually going to have an attack, I think._ Q stood in the first class lounge, a low level tremble rocking him on his feet. _I’m going to have a panic attack. I can feel it. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, get me out of here..._

Bond walked over to him, head cocked. “Alec’s getting the tickets squared away. Sit down before you vibrate through the floor.”

Q met his light hearted words with silence, but he followed the agent to an overstuffed couch. He sat down, back rigid and hands flat on his thighs. _I don’t want to be here._ He stared off into the distance, trying so fucking hard not to picture the runways beyond the walls. _I don’t want to be here._ Something sat on his chest, making it very hard to breathe. He tried though. He tried. _Keep breathing. Just keep breathing, and maybe you will survive the fireball._ Something cold was pushed against the back of his hand, and he slid his eyes down to look at the large glass of whiskey and Coke in Bond’s hand. “What’s this?”

“Drink it.”

“It’s got Coke in it.”

“I’m not going to pay what they want for a glass full of straight whisky until you can prove to me you can keep it down, Evan.”

“Why do you keep calling me Evan?” Q took the drink and sipped at it. _Sure, he’s not going to pay for straight whisky, but this is really strong._

“Helping you remember your cover name.”

Q paused, lips against the glass. “Well, I suppose that’d a fair assumption, if it weren’t wrong.” He tipped the glass back and downed the whisky, wincing at the burn even Coke couldn’t cut. “Evan is my real name.” He looked at Bond, who was staring quite openly and in a confused sort of way. “Hmm...I thought you knew that.”

“Evan what?”

“Holbrook.”

“Ah.” James smiled. “I can’t believe we started dating without me knowing your name.”

Q joined into the laughter, chuckling at his own expense. “It isn’t as though I went out of my way to tell you, actually.” He squinted, trying to think back to when...”Oh, you thought it was a code name because the clubgoers knew it.”

Bond nodded. “Precisely.”

“Well...um...” Q felt as though he was letting Bond down somehow. “I’ve been going to the Colosseum for years, now. Did think I’d have to give it up just because I work for MI6, actually.”

The smile never left Bond’s face as he stood back up and took the glass from the hacker’s hands gently. “Not even when you were - what, a genius hacker? - did you think to use a cover name?”

“Not that sort of hacker, James,” Q muttered at the floor. He waited until the agent came back with _oh, brilliant, straight whisky this time_ before continuing. “Besides, did you really think it would be a cover name if _Eve_ was using it?”

James snorted. “Half the bloody time, she calls me Richard just to piss me off.” He shrugged and swallowed a good chunk of his drink, not his usual but something...

“Is that a amaretto stone sour? I thought you abhorred sweet things?”

That earned him a laugh. “Oh, but what about the ice cream?”

Q turned rosy red.

“Or the honey?”

He wanted to curl up in Bond’s lap...or die of embarrassment.

“Or the alcoholic root beer floats?”

“Oh, _God_ , stop it!”

James leaned over until he was pressed up against Q’s side on the couch, breathing into his hair. “Or that sweet concoction that you were force-feeding me at the pub. Remember that? And those shots we all took at your behest. Apple Pie...Hot Sex...Spice Cake...”

Q drew his legs up into the seat and snuggled into Bond’s warmth, trying to hide his blush from the others milling around in the lounge. “Yes, I do.” He shivered just a bit when he felt James’s nose press against his scalp, just above the collar of the brand new suit the agent had bought for him. A quick swipe of a tongue made him nearly spill his drink, and he knocked back half the glass before he made a huge mess.

“Well, then you should know that I don’t mind sweet things. Especially you, Evan. You are so sweet, deliciously so. I could just... _mmmm_...” Instead of continuing with the ridiculously inane idiom, he licked up the side of Q’s neck again and hummed against his skin.

Q could feel the alcohol, combined with stress and not getting much sleep at all, starting to affect him, could feel the warm glow starting in his stomach. “Hmmm, James. You...you darling...”

“Alright, got everything ready to go...awwwwww, lookit you, adorable little fuckers! Come on, you two lovebirds, before we miss it.” Alec snatched up his carry on and turned to head towards their plane.

Q unfolded himself from Bond’s arms as the man got to his feet, muttering bitterly about timing and just getting settled in damn it all. He set his clothing back to rights, shot the rather flabbergasted and scandalized flyers an apologetic look, and followed right behind Bond - _Sterling, damn it, his last name was Sterling_...

He halted, causing James and Alec to pause as well, further down the walkway.

_Since Bond got me that drink, I haven’t once thought about the plane. Now I'm following them blindly, like a lamb led to the slaugter..._

"Evan. Plane's going to leave." Alec sighed. "Come on."

"Um, yes. Right away." _So much for being relaxed._ He shot a regretful glance to James, who only took the empty glass from the hacker's hand and rubbed his shoulderblades over the strap of the messenger bag strap.

  
  
  
  


 

“Okay. Yes, we are on the plane now. No, I can’t delay the...Just - what? No, you don’t want to do that. That will delete the entire history and most likely negate everything you just did to retrieve it. No.” Q huffed out a sigh, then stiffened as the Boeing 737 began taxiing for take off. His left hand tightened on his armrest. “No.”

Alec blinked at the tightness in the young man’s voice, sudden and sharp.

“No, don’t bother with that. Just reboot in safe mode and get into the diagnostics screen. Tell me you know how to do that - good, at least you are good for something.” He gripped a pen in his right hand, rhythmically tapping it on the plastic of his laptop. “Don’t be like that, most people are idiots when it comes to computers. I just expected you to be a bit more knowledgeable. You know, since I hired you to be a computer tech and all. Don’t...alright, so it’s an OS that you aren’t familiar with. Fantastic.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation even as his right leg started to twitch and bounce, his breathing starting to build speed. “Listen, don’t - oh, good, you found it. Alright, select that function, see if it makes...dial it all the way down. We are going to systematically take this thing apart.”

“Sir, I need you to put that phone away while we take off.” The pretty flight attendant bent over Q’s seat, and Alec nearly snorted at the snarl the man sent her way... until he caught a glimpse of what she was hiding in that uniform. Alec slapped James’s shoulder and pointed at Q, barely able to contain his chortles. Bond looked up from his Skymall magazine and dropped his head against the headrest, groaning in dismay.

“Fucking hell, Alec, did you do that? Is that your doing?” He rolled his head on the padding to stare at his friend, and grinned when Alec nodded, his hand covering his mouth. "Oh, for the love of..."

After a hushed argument, Q jabbed at his right ear and waved the woman away, unable to stop looking at her. _Fuck, I might have to go to the lav before I break down._  Alec rubbed his palms on his thighs. Instead, he watched Q carefully. Across the aisle, the Quartermaster lowered further and further into nervousness, looking for all the world like he was going to have an attack, his mind obviously focused on the take off and not whatever Barry had called about - _James’s attempt at a distraction, backfired because Barry called too early, during the actual take off, not in flight like he was supposed to_  - or the attendant, who still had a job to do other than entertaining two Double Os and a skittish executive. He sighed. “James.”

“Want me to go over there?”

“No, let’s see what happens. Maybe he can handle it now...”

“Alec - this isn’t just nerves. He actually has an -” James stopped and winced as Q slammed his eyes shut as the plane turned to line up with the correct runway. He took a breath for the poor man. “- anxiety disorder, I think. I'm not sure, because even when I took him to Tokyo, he was blissed out during the flight on drugs. We just...didn't talk about it then, something I regret now. This-" He waved his hand around them both " -isn’t making it any better. In flight, he’ll have booze, and we can keep him occupied. But this...” James flexed his fingers ineffectually.

Alec narrowed his eyes and studied his best mate. _God damn it. James ruddy fuckin’ Bond is in love. Full blown, stop at nothing to help, no holds barred and who the fuck heard of a belt IN LOVE. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think he can. Hell, both of us have issues with planes...mostly with either flying them or landing them. Or jumping out of them. Sometimes without a chute. That mission wasn’t fun. Broke soooo many bones on that one. Fuckin’ Rocky Mountains. Damn it, stay on task, you purple knobby dildo. Yes, I just called myself a knobby dildo..._ He pulled himself out of his musing to find Bond had turned into a hawk in the - God, less than three seconds - and was doing that whole _I-am-going-to-stare-until-someone-breaks-or-fucks-me_ thing... “Oh, for the love of FUCK, just go over there.” He unbuckled and got out of his seat, waving at the attendant who was coming over to yell at them. “It’s fine, just switching seats, Mr. Sterling wants to sit with our new computer tech and go over something important...it’s fine.”

James nodded a quick ‘thank you’, and Alec sat back down, shaking his head in wonder. “How the hell we manage on any sort of trip is beyond me, to be honest. Alexia, is it? Why don’t you come over here and talk to me. It’s not like we aren’t three of maybe...six people in this section?” He winked and patted the seat next to him, and the woman walked over to him. He owed her five hundred quid for flashing a bit of cleavage, and he wanted some for himself, damn it!

  
  



End file.
